


Saveur d'amour

by Queenofthewasteland



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Smut, Thinly Veiled Cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthewasteland/pseuds/Queenofthewasteland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their lips part, he speaks.</p>
<p>“Will Graham, will you ever cease to surprise me? I could never find you lacking. I would tempt you with a thousand pomegranate seeds if it meant we could spend eternity together.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saveur d'amour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [something_safe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/gifts).



> For my darling friend Sal, who loves murder husbands that want to consume each other in every way just as much as I do.

Strains of Verdi float through the air, carrying the scent of shallots and red wine, warm and full in the evening breeze. 

Hannibal turns, away from table, set now for one. Low candlelight shines on the pristine porcelain, waiting for the meal he has been reverently creating. He checks the vegetables, white asparagus, crisp and hot, atop a bed of greens. The rice is steaming, white and wild mixed for appearance and flavor. Pleased with their readiness, he hums low and a small smile reaches his eyes as he comes finally to the main dish. 

The steak is beautiful, there is no other word for it, not here. The edges are seared, glazed with the caramelized onions. The Merlot, oak aged over seven years, has soaked into the flesh. At the center, it is vibrant, a bright red recognizing the life that once coursed through it. 

Hannibal lowers the heat, leaves the steak to warm as he plates the sides. Laid out as it is, a painstaking and loving arrangement, the vegetables make a frame for the meat. He gently lifts the steak from the pan, careful to keep the juice from falling from the cut. Once plated, he stops a moment, looks at the dish with wonder in his dark eyes. He sighs, softly, gently and brings it to the table.

_“I would let you, you know?” He smiles, small, but it reaches the clear blue of his eyes._

_“No, not let, that's not the right word. I want you to. I wish to give you that. To give you a piece of me that way.”_

_Strong fingers stroke down the skin of his abdomen, brushing carefully, delicate in their worship of the flesh that's shivering in their wake. They stop, for a moment, before tracing the scar across his front, left hip to right, before beginning their ascent up the other side._

_He leans up, nuzzling into the soft strands of blond hair. Hannibal looks up at him, softness in his dark eyes. He presses a kiss to the body laid before him, a body he has worshipped in every way._

_“After all that you've given me, your mind, your trust, your life, and still you wish to give me more. None could rival you, Will Graham, none will ever compare.”_

_Will sighs, body lax with bliss. He cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair, drawing the man up his body._

_“I've never felt more sure of myself, of my life, than when I'm with you. I want to wear these scars, your marks, to be marked by you. Because I asked. Because I gave.”_

_Will leans in close, lips ghosting over Hannibal's cheeks, into his hair and down over the shell of his ear._

_"I want to give you the very fiber of my being, Hannibal. I want you to taste me. And swallow me whole.”_

_Hannibal's hips drive down to meet Will’s, their lips crashing in tandem. Hannibal has no words, no spoken language that can convey how much this means to him. He cannot fathom the intensity of his love for the man below him, his gratitude and appreciation. So he will show him, he will exhaust him, sate him._

_When their lips part, he speaks._

_“Will Graham, will you ever cease to surprise me? I could never find you lacking. I would tempt you with a thousand pomegranate seeds if it meant we could spend eternity together.”_

_Will laughs, bright and clear, until Hannibal shifts his hips harder against him and it drags into a moan._

_“You would hoard me? Keep me as your own and let everything else fall to its own eternal winter?”_

_“My world is much more interesting with you in it.” Hannibal catches Will’s lips, before he can speak again. He wants to ravish the younger man, take his fill and let Will have his as well._

_He slides his hand down low, fingers brushing Will's opening. Will squirms pleasantly, hips pushing back against the seeking fingers. He reluctantly let's Hannibal go to seek further down his body again. He lifts his head to watch as Hannibal crouches between his thighs and lifts his hips, strong forearms under each thigh._

_“Let me begin by tasting you here.”_

_Will's head falls back to the pillow, eyes closed and mouth slack in ecstasy. The first swipe of Hannibal's tongue against his opening sends stars behind his eyes and by the fifth he's sobbing for it. His hands clench sporadically in Hannibal's hair, in his own, the sheets beneath him, anything he can reach. Hannibal's clever tongue works inside him, thrusting in and out with the rhythm of Will's hips._

_Will loses himself in the sensations, lets his mind wash clean. His body parts to let Hannibal in and he groans deep when Hannibal bottoms out inside him. He clutches at the older man, nails leaving pink rivers in their wake as he claws, trying in any way to get closer to the man above him._

_Hannibal pants his love, breathes his adoration as he drives himself into Will. He kisses Will, anywhere he can reach, soft curls and sweaty forehead. Will's body in turn curves upward to meet each kiss, each thrust._

_As Will cums, he imagines Hannibal's hands on him like this, but in the future. Fingertips like knives across his body, tracing pink fissures in pale skin, reopening willingly parted flesh. His tongue on him, tasting the flesh again and again, always as though it were the first time. Savoring._

_Adoring._

_Worshipping._

_Consuming._

Hannibal slices into the steak, relishing the toughness of the cut. The meat willingly gives way to Hannibal’s ministrations of the sharp blade, much like the creature it came from. He slides it through the residual liquid it sits in, bloody and pink. Bringing it to his mouth, he breathes in deeply before setting it to his tongue. The first touch against his palate has Hannibal closing his eyes in reverence. Flavors flow across his tongue, the sweetness of the shallots, the fullness of the wine. And through it all, he tastes the flesh, rich and complex, akin to that of pork, but so much more. He chews, enjoying immensely the tough meat that gives way beneath his teeth. He can taste him here, a taste he knows so well but still something new in this way, a flesh he knows intimately but rediscovers here and now. A pleasant surprise from a creature he can never entirely predict. 

He savors the meal, small sips of wine in between bites. When the last bit of meat passes his lips, he smiles. He lets it sit on his tongue, absorbing the flavor so he can hold it there even after he has swallowed it. There is still wine in his glass, but he chooses not to finish it, preferring instead to let the taste of the meat remain the last thing on his tongue.

The dishes are cleaned, cleared away before he makes his way upstairs. He is quiet, careful in his steps to the bedroom. He undresses, clothes carefully put away, and sits softly on the bed. Reaching out gently, he runs his hands over the bandages on Will's sides. The younger man stirs softly and Hannibal stills, reluctant to wake him. Despite his careful touch, eyes open, blinking blearily before bright blue settles on Hannibal. He smiles and lifts a hand to run through Will's sleep mussed curls.

“Will Graham, I adore you.”

Will smiles in return, a soft thing, still slow and tired from the drugs in his system.

“How do you feel?” Hannibal lets his hand rest on Will's cheek, the other holding him up so he can lean nearer to the man below him.

Will laughs, weak, but genuine.

“Tired. Sore. But I'll live.” He waits a beat, until Hannibal's eyes raise from the bandages, white and pristine, that cover Will's middle.

“How did I taste?”

Hannibal stirs, a heat rising in him at the words. He wants nothing more than to ravish, to worship the body, the man, that has given him so much. This man who has filled him, brought him together so completely. He will wait though, wait until Will is whole again, so he can tear him apart with lips and teeth and tongue and cock, to bring him pleasure in any way he is able so he can show how immeasurably and intensely he appreciates what Will has given him. 

“You tasted perfect.”


End file.
